


His Purpose

by partialresonance



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Protective Kylo Ren, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, The Force
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:07:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25414420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partialresonance/pseuds/partialresonance
Summary: When Hux hears Snoke's voice in his mind, he thinks it's a caffeine hallucination. Until the voice plants an insidious purpose that Hux has no choice but to fulfill.Thankfully, Kylo is there to save him. Little does he know that the sinister presence was targeting him all along.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Comments: 16
Kudos: 180





	His Purpose

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the warnings, things get a little dark and potentially triggering.
> 
> Let's see...post-TLJ, Kylo Ren is Supreme Leader, Batuu never happened so they're on the Finalizer. For the sake of simplicity regarding their relationship and the simple feel-good ending I wanted, Kylo never assaulted Hux with the Force. He was just kinda shitty.

_“General Hux.”_

Hux stops in his tracks.

He turns slowly, taking in the empty corridor of the _Finalizer_ , suspicion in the crinkled line of his brow. His hands are clasped tightly behind his back. He’d left his greatcoat in his quarters and he suddenly regrets it as a chill seizes hold of him, like icy fingers trailing down his spine.

Skipped rest cycles and too much caf must be the culprit for him hearing _that_ voice. He gives himself a little shake and a harsh admonition for allowing himself to fall so far below his own standards, and continues down the corridor.

Quite faster than he can even comprehend what is happening, much less do anything about it, he feels the familiar and unwelcome pressure of the Force surrounding him. His legs snap together, arms rigid at his sides, and he is lifted from the floor and—perversely, almost _gently_ —moved to the side and pressed against the wall, the Force like a giant hand cupped around him.

As always when he is accosted through the Force, his brain is briefly jogged offline. Terror, confusion—a swirl of emotions throw his thoughts into turmoil, but practice has him quickly gaining control of himself again. He has limited options available to him, but does what he can—which mostly involves taking stock of himself, feeling through the position of each limb, determining what he can and cannot move. His fingers twitch, and his lips pull back into a snarl.

“Ren,” he hisses, “I swear upon all the stars if this is you—”

Because somehow, he already knows that it is not Ren holding him here.

_“General Hux.”_

His mouth goes dry.

It can’t be possible, he can’t be hearing that voice again. He wets his lips so he can speak.

“Supreme Leader.”

Of course, that title belongs to Ren now, but Hux has never addressed the owner of this voice in any other way.

Somehow, impossibly, it’s _Snoke_ in his head. Snoke—who should be dead—holding him like some stupid, fragile bird caught in a trap half-sprung, the crushing blow hanging imminently upon some moment quickly approaching on the horizon of time. How many more seconds does he have to live? Hux doesn’t know. The voice in his head cackles, and it takes his scrambling brain precious time to realize that this is the first time he has ever heard Snoke laugh.

_“Not quite, General.”_

Hux’s brow knits in confusion. The voice is inexplicably layered—Snoke’s rumbling drawl overlaid with something reedy and _old._ Snoke had always seemed like some ancient wraith but in comparison to this new voice he is a bumbling infant upon the galaxy’s stage. And Hux—Hux is nothing. His own insignificance daunts him, swarming over him like a plague of buzzing insects drowning out light, sound, thought.

He is only distantly aware that this is manipulation before that thought, too, is ripped from him, leaving an aching void in its wake. His heart rate trips into overdrive.

_“You have outlived your usefulness, Hux.”_

He wants to shout _no_ —he lost Starkiller, it’s true, and the Resistance seems to be always one step ahead of him but there is no one else who can do half the things he’s done and he has more to give to the Order, has already given more than anyone else, he just needs another chance.

_“There will be no more chances for you. You have served your purpose.”_

Yes. Yes, alright. Hux finds himself nodding even as he struggles to catch his breath, cold sweat standing out on his skin. His complexion is an ashy grey as his body jolts into a panic response but his mind is oddly calm. The voice is right. He did well—he destroyed the New Republic fleet, he developed hyperspace tracking from a nascent idea to a technological feat and now—

Now it is time to go.

The Force releases him and he crumples to the floor. Shaking all over, he struggles to stand, palms flat on the wall as he braces himself against it. He takes a moment to pull himself together, but his mind is blank of anything other than the purpose set for him by the voice. He doesn’t remember where he was originally headed down this corridor, and it doesn’t matter. Eventually he can stand without support, and that is when he makes for the nearest airlock.

*

Kylo Ren feels something in the Force.

He turns over in his bed, his half-asleep mind trying to push away the nagging feeling that something is off. It’s a dream—those come frequently, half-dreams, half-visions, calling to him. Ghosts demanding his attention. Well they can fucking wait. Right now he’s getting some well-deserved rest and he won’t let some long-dead Jedi or Sith come calling like a slipper-clad geriatric neighbor who needs to borrow some sugar.

There are a few seconds of peace—and then he snaps awake, sitting up in bed.

Something is wrong with Hux.

_What else is new,_ part of him grumbles. Their on-again, off-again tryst is currently, decidedly _off_ , has been ever since Kylo killed Snoke. Hux may never forgive him for assuming the title of Supreme Leader and Kylo—well, he can admit to himself only in moments like this, alone and still groggy from sleep, that he probably deserves it after what he’d said to Hux on Crait. So, fine, things are better this way, and he has no business prowling through the Force to try to figure out exactly what it was that woke him. Hux certainly hadn’t called out to him in any meaningful way.

Kylo lays back down, throwing one arm over his eyes. He should go back to sleep.

But he can’t. Something is culminating, he feels it on his skin like the shadow of a wave about to crash over him. He knows he has to stay ahead of it, and this is the kind of instinct that he will not ignore. It’s not a Force ghost imposing their will on him, demanding the attention of the living. This is his own senses telling him to heed their warning. Something terrible is about to happen.

Kylo leaps out of bed.

He is dressed in black leggings and pauses only to shove his feet into his boots and draw his black cowl over himself. It hangs open slightly at the front, his bare chest a gleam of near-white under the _Finalizer_ ’s corridor lights, but he doesn’t care. There’s no time to lose. He latches on to Hux’s signature in the Force and nearly pulls back, snarling. It’s as if Hux is swamped in fetid vapors; Kylo’s stomach turns as he takes hold of it again and follows it to Hux’s current location.

Faster. He has to go faster.

All but sprinting now, Kylo rounds a corner and exhales a breath of relief when he sees Hux. He thunders to a halt, for a moment shocked by how normal everything appears when the Force is swirling in turmoil around them.

“Hux?”

Hux doesn’t look at him. He doesn’t appear to have heard him at all. He is walking towards Kylo with his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes trained to the floor. Kylo’s mouth is dry. He runs his eyes over Hux—the other man’s hair is disheveled, his face pale, and he appears to be trembling. As he draws closer Kylo can feel how very _wrong_ his presence in the Force is; if Kylo weren’t looking at him right now he’d be tempted to say that it wasn’t even Hux. It doesn’t feel like him, not really.

As Hux passes him, Kylo steps to the side, confusion delaying his actions. But then he blinks and shoots out a hand to grasp Hux roughly by the upper arm.

“Hux!” He snaps. “Where are you going?”

Hux doesn’t struggle against his hold, or even look at him as he intones:

“An airlock.”

Kylo’s hand slips in shock. Hux immediately starts walking again, and Kylo can only stumble along behind him, certain that this must be some sick joke. He tries reading Hux’s mind but it’s like the layout has changed completely. What was once as familiar to him as his own quarters is now some kind of bleak landscape where Kylo struggles to find a single, coherent thought. As he’s busy with these Force maneuverings he fails to realize that they have stopped, until the faint beeping of a keypad jogs his awareness.

Again, his hand darts out to snatch Hux’s wrist and wrench the other man to face him.

“What are you doing?” He hisses.

“Removing myself.” His gaze doesn’t meet Kylo’s, though he doesn’t seem to be actively avoiding his eyes. It’s more like it would simply take too much active energy to look up, and so he continues to stare blankly at Kylo’s chest. When he speaks his voice is wooden and oddly soft around the edges. Emotionless but almost—slurred? Whatever it is, it’s entirely unlike Hux.

“What do you _mean?_ ”

Hux doesn’t answer, and Kylo bites back a growl of frustration.

“Look at me!” His other hand grips the back of Hux’s head, fingers tangling in his red hair and thumb pressing insistently into his cheek. He angles Hux to look at him, expecting to see fire in those eyes at this manhandling. But there’s nothing. His expression is as blank as his voice, as his mind. “Hux, what is this? Are you—defecting?” Kylo clenches his jaw against the slight tremble in his voice. He’s shaken. Hux has always been a _constant_ , and now Kylo feels like the floor has been ripped out from under him. He hazards a glance at the airlock, and sees that Hux has already ejected the escape pod that once inhabited the chamber.

“I’m removing myself.”

Suddenly, Hux twists in his grasp. Kylo instinctively tightens his grip, trying to bring Hux back towards him where he can get his arms around the slight man and contain him somehow. But Hux throws himself to the side, so violently that Kylo winces as he feels the reverberation of the pain that ignites in Hux’s arm. Hux doesn’t stop.

“Hux!”

Kylo is terrified to release his grip on Hux’s wrist but every vicious twist and pull threatens to tear Hux’s arm from his socket. He’s fighting to escape as if nothing else after that matters. His boots scrabble against the floor; Kylo tries to grab his shirt but he lunges, twists, something in his wrist _cracks_ —

“Enough!” Kylo reaches in to Hux’s mind and _yanks_ on the same string he pulled with Rey on Takodana. Hux instantly goes limp and Kylo catches him, gathering the unconscious man into his arms.

He stands there for a long moment, chest heaving and heart pounding. He looks down at Hux, whose head is hanging over Kylo’s elbow, exposing the delicate length of his neck. Kylo clutches Hux to his chest, grounding himself in the warmth of his pliant body, lost to the familiar and missed sensation.

Then, steeling himself against those memories as well as recent events, he stomps off to his quarters with Hux in his arms.

Only two stormtroopers see them, and Kylo wipes the memory easily from their minds. He uses the Force to wave open his door and then deposits Hux gently on the bed. He places Hux’s wrist carefully atop his chest, angry at himself for failing to prevent the injury.

Kylo drags the chair over from his desk and sits beside the bed.

He approaches Hux’s presence in the Force with care, knowing by now that something sinister has happened. That fetid feeling, like maggots crawling over his skin, is still there. Kylo recognizes it as some external presence, something that does not come from Hux but lays over him like a rotted shroud. When he tries to peel it back, it only sinks in deeper.

A cold shudder moves through him. This is ancient, powerful stuff—the kind of Sith workings that his uncle once thought Kylo capable of. Though he is no cursed Jedi, Kylo could never imagine doing something this insidious.

Cursing quietly to himself, Kylo draws back. Hux is slowly coming around, eyes flicking back and forth beneath his eyelids, breath quickening. Kylo waits to see what he will do.

Hux opens his eyes.

He blinks at the ceiling, and it slams into Kylo like a blunt force that if he doesn’t intervene, the same thing will happen: Hux will leap from the bed, scrambling to throw himself out of the nearest airlock. The plan is already forming in Hux’s mind, though not in the typical way that Hux’s plans take shape. There is nothing calculated or considered about this. It isn’t pieced together like an intricate puzzle, it’s thrust upon Hux, and everything that is in Hux that would protest it is smothered.

As Hux sits up, Kylo lifts a hand and mutters,

“You will stay in these quarters.”

“I—”

Hux is prepared to repeat the order, but the evil thing in him rises up and smacks it aside. He shakes his head and shifts his legs to hang over the side of the bed. Kylo grunts and forces his way in again.

“ _You will stay in these quarters.”_

Hux flinches. Suddenly he’s breathing rapidly, lifting a hand to press against his forehead.

“Kylo?” He says shakily, and Kylo’s heart leaps in his chest. For the briefest moment the black veil slips and Hux shines through, his presence in the Force as cold and clear as ever, his mind confused but whole and Kylo dives in, seeking out what had happened to Hux. There’s something about a voice, and then—

Hux gasps, and shudders as the trap closes over him again. Kylo watches his expression go blank, eyes unseeing, heedless of his fractured wrist as he pushes himself up off the bed, already turning towards the door. His mind is a wasteland, filled with only one word, a morbid chant:

_Airlock, airlock, airlock._

Kylo seals the door shut with a flick of his hand. He leaps to his feet and grabs Hux by the shoulders.

“ _Why,_ Hux?” His voice cracks with desperation. “I don’t understand. Help me understand. Why do you need to do this?”

There is a difference between the rote repetition of a Force-order, and what happens to Hux next.

The order—which comes from some being that Kylo swears he will destroy, _painfully_ —sinks down into Hux’s consciousness. It seeps along the neural pathways already laid down over thirty-five years of life, corrupting them to its purpose. It happens quickly, so Kylo can only look down at his former lover in horror as Hux breaks out of the trance and looks up at him and says, very clearly,

“I want to die, Kylo.”

“No,” Kylo shakes his head. “No, you don’t. Hux, something happened to you, but I’m gonna fix it, okay? Then you’ll feel better.”

“I’m a failure,” he says, matter-of-factly. “My father was right about me. My life’s work was destroyed. Even you have no use for me anymore. I hate almost everything about myself and I’m sick of fighting it. I’m done, Kylo. Please let me go.”

“Do you hear yourself? This isn’t like you.” Kylo’s grip on his shoulders tightens. He doesn’t know which is worse—Hux in the previous trance-like state or this. He feels like he should be able to reason with Hux now but Hux just looks at him, unfazed, and shakes his head.

Kylo needs to try something else.

“Listen, just—what’s the hurry?” He presses Hux towards the bed and Hux stumbles back, looking numb, resigned. “What does it matter if you do it now or in an hour? Can you just—can you give me an hour? Please?”

“I—” Hux’s brow crinkles in confusion, and he rubs his forehead again. “I don’t know, I—need to go—”

But he lets Kylo push him down so that he’s sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Okay,” Kylo breathes out. He can feel himself shaking as he cups Hux’s face in both hands, his heart jolting at the intimate touch that he hadn’t known he’d missed so much. Hux is looking at him in confusion, and Kylo can feel the way his thoughts see-saw sickeningly back and forth. He’s enjoying Kylo’s touch, but that does not serve the sinister purpose in his mind, and the dissonance is making him queasy. “How about some tea?” Kylo asks quietly. “You like tea.”

“I’m going to do it, Kylo. You’re just delaying the inevitable.”

“Okay. I get it.” Kylo leans down and presses a quick kiss to his forehead. Hux startles. For some reason, Kylo is encouraged by every little surprise he can give Hux. Maybe he thinks he can simply shock Hux out of this, and it’s not a bad thought—but for now he lets Hux go, as soon as he’s sure Hux isn’t going to leave the bed.

He goes to the little kitchenette, keeping a close watch on Hux through the Force as he sets about making tea. Hux’s thoughts are trying to resolve themselves into action, but Kylo has thrown him off-balance. Despite the insistent push of his thoughts towards self-destruction, Hux is curious about what Kylo will do next, and resigned to not leaving the quarters for now. The water is set to boil in the kettle when Hux remembers that he carries a knife in his sleeve.

Kylo crashes into the bedroom as Hux draws the monomolecular blade, ripping it from his hand with the Force just before the infinitely sharp edge sinks into his exposed wrist.

“I asked you to wait!” Kylo thunders. Darkness has gathered in Hux’s mind again, and Kylo tries to wave it away, like dispelling a cloud of vapor. As soon as his presence is gone, the darkness rushes back in.

“This is foolish, Kylo.” Hux looks down at his lap. “I don’t want tea, I want to die.” For the first time, Kylo can hear a thread of pain in his voice. “I want this to end. I’m—I’m so confused.”

“I know.” Kylo huffs and strides over to kneel beside the bed, placing a hand on Hux’s knee. “I’ve been trying to tell you that something happened. These aren’t your thoughts, that’s why you’re confused. You don’t want to do this. Someone is _telling_ you to do it—are you just going to give up and listen? Give them what they want?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He tries to cradle his head in his hands, and hisses at his injured wrist.

“Do you remember what happened before—before you tried to use the airlock? Before I found you in the corridor?”

“No,” he says quickly. Kylo holds back another frustrated growl.

“Don’t answer right away. Think about it. You heard a voice. What did it say?”

“No!” Hux shakes his head. He scoots away from Kylo, groaning as if in pain. “Just shut up, Kylo. You always make things so difficult.”

“Yeah?” Despite everything, Kylo’s lips twist up into the ghost of a smile. “Well, so do you.”

The piercing whine of the tea kettle cuts through the air. Hux and Kylo both jump.

With Hux’s knife safely in Kylo’s possession, he feels confident to leave him alone long enough to retrieve the tea. Getting the cups and saucers out of the cabinet is more painful than Kylo thought it would be. He hasn’t used them since the last time Hux was in his quarters, nearly a year ago. He hopes he remembers how to make the tea the way Hux likes.

When he returns to the bedroom he’s happy to see that, despite the continued sick feeling of Hux’s presence in the Force, he hasn’t moved from his position on the bed. Small victories. Kylo sits beside him and presses the cup into his hand, remembering at the last second that he can’t use the saucer. His other hand, the one with the injured wrist, is cradled in his lap. Kylo sips at his own tea, watching Hux carefully.

“Do you remember what happened to your wrist?”

Hux purses his lips. He seems to be trying very hard not to think about anything at all; every once in a while, Kylo sees the intrusive thoughts rising up from his subconscious, insisting that he should end it now, it’s been too long already, he’s done, he’s worthless, the galaxy thinks him a monster, his own Order is better off without him, Kylo tossed him aside like garbage, like his father had done and they were all right, everyone who has ever laughed at him and hurt him was right and he _can’t_ anymore…

“You’re okay,” Kylo mutters. He doesn’t like how so many of these thoughts are based in reality. It’s harder to combat them, that way, and he realizes that this was quite intentional on the part of whoever did this to Hux.

“I’m not.” Even under this compulsion, Hux isn’t one to wallow. He is businesslike, forthright. He has come up with a solution, he thinks, and he’ll see that it is executed immediately. As soon as Kylo stops interfering. But until then Hux will not wax on about his failings aloud. He sips at the tea and stares numbly at the far wall.

“Hux.” Kylo touches his arm. “Will you at least admit that something is wrong with you? I know you don’t want to talk about the voice—”

Hux shudders.

“But you didn’t feel this way this morning.” Kylo presses on, tea growing cold in his cup. “You didn’t feel this way last week. What changed? Something must have happened. I just want to know what it is. When I feel for you through the Force, I can tell—believe me, Hux, this isn’t you. Will you trust me?”

“Why should I trust you?”

“I care about you.” Kylo wishes Hux would look at him. “I always have.”

“Then I feel sorry for you.”

Hux looks down at the cup, which he’s drained of its tea. Kylo can see the thought forming in his mind—if he smashes the cup against the wall, the shards could be sharp enough to—

Kylo’s temper flares. He rips the thought from Hux’s mind, no finesse, no compunction about using the Force on him in this way. It’s such an ugly thought that he wants it _gone_ , and Hux just gives a little hiccup and blinks down at the cup in confusion, knowing he’d just had a thought but entirely unable to recall what it was.

As Kylo retreats from Hux’s mind, he hears the faintest echo of laughter.

“Did you hear that?” Kylo grips his arm, shaking Hux. “What was that? _Who_ was that? Hux! Tell me!”

The cup slips from Hux’s hand, clattering harmlessly to the floor. He’s trembling, eyes blank with some nameless fear, thoughts offline. Kylo sets his cup aside and turns towards Hux to sit cross-legged on the bed. He takes Hux’s hand and covers it in both of his.

“I’m going to meditate.”

Translation: he’s going to find this fucking bastard, whoever they are, and he is going to make them suffer.

When Kylo closes his eyes, he sees stars.

He doesn’t know where this place is. He has the suspicion that it’s not a real place at all—somewhere outside of time and the galaxy as he knows it, where he can somehow see everything at once. The stars of the galaxy are pinpricks of light against sleepy black velvet. He’s still connected to his body on the _Finalizer_. He can hear Hux’s heartbeat, feel his pulse through his palm. There’s a single beat for what feels like every two or three minutes.

He can move the stars. He cycles through them, holding the sound of that laughter, the smell of death at the forefront of his mind as he searches for the source. He knows what he’s looking for: a Force user, whose power is so great that it warps this space around them like the gravity well of a star. Or a black hole.

They made a mistake by forcing this compulsion upon Hux. It forged a link between them—Hux and this other—and Kylo finds it almost instantly. The stars swirl around him as he spirals down, zeroing in on the target, his mind flaring out like the black wings of a carrion bird, soul screaming a battle cry.

He lands on the stony surface of a planet wreathed in perpetual storms.

Electricity crackles in the air. He turns, and a great stone configuration slides into view. The monolith is flared like a cruel starburst, arms ending in jagged peaks. That cruel laughter, old like brittle, crinkled paper, echoes around him. Kylo stands his ground.

“Foolish boy. You would deliver yourself to me?”

Kylo snarls, almost moving to ignite his saber. He doesn’t have it here, of course. Doesn’t need it.

Fog and shadows ring the base of the winged monolith. They swirl, and coalesce into a _thing_ kept alive by Sith magic, hanging like a crucified corpse upon some mechanical arm that arches into the sky. The thing lurches forward, its robes swinging sickeningly as it laughs again.

“Who are you?” Kylo throws it down like a challenge.

“I am your Supreme Leader,” Snoke’s voice growls at him. “I am your grandfather,” Vader’s wheezing vocoder echoes off the surrounding stone. “And,” in a new voice, one high-pitched and reedy with infirmity but infinitely cruel, “I am your grandfather’s master.”

“Darth Sidious.” Kylo sneers, hand flexing at his side. He doesn’t have time to be shaken by the realization that Snoke had been nothing more than a puppet for the undead Emperor. Hux is still under his control, and breaking it is the only thing that matters.

“Ah, yes. General Hux.” The corpse-thing cracks an indulgent, chiding smile. “You should have let my manipulation run its course. Your attachment to that man weakens you.”

“Is that why you did it?” Kylo could laugh, but he doesn’t. Instead he stalks forward, unafraid, anger singing in his veins. “To _strengthen_ me? I think not.” On the _Finalizer_ , Hux’s hand jerks, and Kylo tightens his grip.

“You are spreading yourself too thin.” The Emperor’s voice is gloating. “This is how Skywalker died, is it not?”

“I’m not Luke.”

Suddenly Kylo lifts a hand, attempting to wrap the Force around this talking corpse’s throat. Sidious bats him aside easily, cackling, the towering cliffs around them groaning in chorus with the undead laugh.

“Give up!” Sidious twitches a finger and back on the _Finalizer_ Hux gasps. “I can kill him from here. You are powerless to save him.”

Kylo’s vision doubles. His quarters on the _Finalizer_ swim back into view as Hux swoons against him. He catches Hux, narrowly clinging to his presence in the Force dimension. Sidious moves another finger and Hux jerks in his arms, face twisting into agony.

“Stop it!”

Hux is writhing, mouth opening in a silent scream.

Everything in Kylo wants to break his connection with the Force and be entirely present on the _Finalizer._ He has to be there for Hux, has to protect him—but he can’t do anything from there. Tears stinging his eyes, Kylo rips his attention away from Hux and back to Sidious.

“I’ll kill you!”

He lunges forward, but Sidious knocks him back with the Force. Kylo lands on his back, the breath knocked out of him and that fucking laughter echoing in his mind. He channels all of his rage, just like Snoke had taught him, and forges it into a killing blow. But as he lashes out at Sidious the weapon simply melts away, like ice meeting boiling water. Whatever Kylo is used to using to hurt people, it’s made of the same stuff as Sidious’s defenses.

“You could have been part of my new Empire.” The mechanical arm creaks as Sidious is lifted over Kylo, wilted arms spread like the monolith behind him. “But you prove too troublesome. I am a benevolent man; I will make your end mercifully quick.”

_Think, you idiot,_ Kylo tells himself, pushing up onto his elbows. He’s more powerful than Sidious, he can _feel_ it, so why can’t he land a blow?

On the _Finalizer,_ Hux is panting in his arms. Agony still wracks his slender frame but he’s too exhausted to do more than twitch. If Kylo doesn’t end this soon, Hux won’t survive Sidious’s torture.

The answer must be with Hux. Why had Sidious tried to kill him?

_“I’m removing myself_ ,” Hux had said. Sidious had told him he had served his purpose.

_No,_ Kylo thinks, clarity striking him. He staggers to his feet as he realizes that Sidious had manipulated his grandfather the same way—by playing off of Anakin’s fears that he would lose Padmé. Once Padmé died, Anakin had been lost for good.

Hux is his Padmé.

Kylo grins wildly, giddy laughter bubbling out of him even as Sidious raises his hand for a death blow.

Hux is going to hate it when he tells him that.

Force lightning streaks across the stone arena, leaping from Sidious’s fingers and striking directly at Kylo’s heart. Almost lazily, Kylo lifts a hand and summons everything he’s ever felt about Hux.

Frustration. Denial. Anger. Interest. _Arousal._

Hux’s stupid little sneer. The glasses he wears at night, after taking out his contacts, when he’s dressed in nothing but his silk robe and looks so unbearably soft. The smooth, pale mound of his shoulder, and how Kylo would always kiss him there.

Attention. Need. Acceptance. Partnership. _Love._

The lightning bounces harmlessly off of Kylo’s palm.

“I love him, you wrinkled old fuck.” Kylo channels it and it feels so _right,_ so new. Luke had taught him not to feel, to channel the emptiness in which the Jedi found peace. Snoke had taught him to channel his hatred, to stoke his rage so he would never run dry. But this new thing is infinite inside of him—the more he draws on it, the more there is to draw upon.

He holds it in an ever-tightening spiral around him until the power threatens to rip him apart. And then, on an exhale, he releases it. The Force whips out from him, slicing through Sidious, who gives one last croaking scream as his soul is torn asunder. Somewhere in real space, his body falls limp in its mechanical arm, no Sith magic in the galaxy powerful enough to revive him.

Kylo falls to his knees, shoulders shaking in laughter.

He lets himself go, spiraling up out of the meditation, past those swirling stars, leaving the stormy planet behind for good. When he blinks, he’s back on the _Finalizer,_ fully inside of his body again.

Hux is very still in his arms.

“Hey.” He’s cradling Hux against his chest, and shifts him slightly so that he can free one hand to cup Hux’s face. His hands are shaking and he’s drenched in sweat, but he feels invigorated. Wrung-out, but good—as long as Hux is okay. “Baby?”

It just slips out of him. He feels high on the bond between them, that has always been there even if he hadn’t seen it until today. He’d called Hux baby once, and gotten an elbow to the ribs for it. Maybe he can convince Hux to like it, in a couple of years.

Hux groans and opens his eyes.

“What,” he gasps, “in all the Sith hells…happened…”

Kylo feels at Hux’s presence in the Force and sighs in relief. It’s free of Sidious’s rotten influence. Hux is shaken, confused as he puts together the events of the day, trying to sort them out, ashamed of his behavior. He tries to sit up, which only results in Kylo having to catch him again. He’s trembling, too, and for a few long moments the two of them look at each other, trying to catch their breath, not daring to break the silence between them. Then Kylo dips his head and lifts Hux so he can capture his lips in a gentle kiss.

Hux gives a little ‘mmph’ of surprise.

“You mean so much to me,” Kylo whispers. He feels how Hux is shocked by this, and so pleased that he is instantly suspicious of it—of the truth in the words, of the way they make him feel. And there is a thread of disbelief, too.

Despite the fact that the original manipulation had come from the outside, it had worked its way so deeply into Hux’s psyche that Kylo fears it will take more than murder and a kiss to restore Hux’s sense of self. Hux clings to him, his vulnerability like an aching sore upon his soul.

That’s okay. He’s alive, and he and Kylo have the rest of their lives to recover from this. Together.

Two days later, Hux comes to his quarters.

Kylo lets him in immediately. Hux is dressed in his greatcoat again, the thing he wears when he feels he needs to be bigger than the demons nipping at his heels. His wrist is in a brace, and he stands in the middle of the room looking lost.

Kylo approaches him slowly, teasing at the lapels of the coat, and smiles when Hux lets him slip it from his narrow shoulders and lay it carefully on the desk. He still trembles when Kylo holds his face in his hands, and Kylo manages to surprise him when he kisses Hux’s eyebrows. Hux sighs, lets his eyes fall shut, lets himself curl into Kylo’s embrace.

They repeat this each day until Hux no longer wears a brace, until Kylo’s quarters are no longer just his.

**Author's Note:**

> Hux is Padmé/dark Padmé, change my mind.


End file.
